It’s November 24 — the official publication date of my second book, The Devil’s Alphabet. I’ve gotten word from pal Jack Skillingstead that it’s already on the shelves in Seattle—it must be the time difference. And two people just emailed me (it’s 1Am Tuesday morning as I type this) that their order just shipped from Amazon.
The latest reviews, the first chapter, and links to buy are all on the Devil page.
Meanwhile, here’s a party game to play for the launch: go to your friendly neighborhood bookstore, find the book on the shelf… and flip it over. It’s freaky fun for the whole family.
There are a raft of people who were a great help in writing this book. I’d tell you to read about them in the acknowledgments, but what if you never buy the thing? Or if the cover scares you, and you never even look inside?
Better to thank all those people here, in front of God and everybody. Here’s a copy of what you’d find if you opened the front cover:
Many people helped make the book you’re holding (or viewing, or listening to) and I owe them my sincere thanks. Chris Schluep, with a deft hand on the editorial stick, guided this book the final miles over the chilly Hudson. Many more people at Del Rey worked to get these words in front of you, including some–Fleetwood Robbins (who acquired this book when its title was “Work to be Named Later”), and SueMoe! (one word, with exclamation mark)–who’ve moved on and are greatly missed. Deanna Hoak signed up for a second tour of copy editing. And David Bowie–well, he has no idea how much he helped me write this thing.
My gratitude goes as well to the early readers: Charles Coleman Finlay, Sarah K. Castle, Cathrynne M. Valente, and the rest of the Blue Heaven workshop crew who critiqued the first draft; Heather Lindsley, who fine-tuned the second; and Kathy Bieschke, Gary Delafield, and Elizabeth Delafield, who marked up hundreds of pages in between. Emma and Ian Gregory read none of it, but informed all of it.
And to all the Gregorys, Barbaras, Meyers, Riddles, and Heatons, the multitude of aunts, uncles, and cousins — so many cousins! — scattered over the Smokies: thanks for feeding your Yankee relation every time he came to town. Even more than the bizarre residents of Switchcreek, the lonely boy in this book is a creature of pure imagination.
Last, I want to point out that the book is dedicated to my parents, Darrell and Thelma. You wouldn’t believe what they had to put up with.